Sparking Like Fire
by sassywriterchick
Summary: He wants to hate her so much that it's killing him inside—LoganVeronica


a/n: oh goodness me end of term is Friday and yet I spent a ton of time writing this and I absolutely adore it. AU after season three.

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_-So don't say your goodbyes even though it's better that way-_

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"You're gonna die," the words are a heated rush of anger out of the boy lying on the cheap tile, and Logan's lips pull into a smile of euphoria.

"Yeah, someday," he says breezily, laughing a little as he does. Who cares if he does die anyways? He's pretty sure the only person that would truly be sad is Dick, and even then only between the brief periods when his friend _wasn't_ drunk or high.

His eyes turn up to meet Veronica's, and she smiles back at him, the smile sparking like fire.

It's then that he turns back to meet Piz, and apologizes. It's a lame ass apology, but it's something that she wants him to do, so he does it. When he turns back around, Veronica is gone.

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She gets to his hotel room later that week, after the rain has started to pour and it sounds like music on the roof. He's quite honestly expecting it to be someone else, _anyone_ else. When she left the dining hall, he was sure that was the last time he would look her in the eyes like that again.

Now she's standing there though, wearing a pink jacket, her hair pulled back and sticking to her forehead with droplets of water. Her clothes are clinging to her in all the right places, and it takes all his restraint not to draw her in close. Instead he leans against the doorway, trying to remain calm as she looks at him.

"Why?" she asks, her teeth chattering. She's soaked to the bone, like she's been walking around in the rain for hours.

"Why what?"

"Why did you beat Gory up?" she repeats, and a delicate sneeze sends her whole body reeling.

"How long have you been out in the rain Ronnie?" he asks instead, drawing her into the room. For once she doesn't protest his use of the nickname and instead moves to sit on the couch, shivering and damp.

"Will you answer my question?" she deflects. He sighs, and deciding it would be easier to go this route, he pulls out one of his hoodies from a cabinet and tosses it towards her. She pulls her wet jacket off and slips the navy fabric over her head gratefully.

"I did it because he deserved it," Logan says, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

Veronica looks up at him with big blue eyes, and he knows she's going to kiss him before she moves across the room. She grabs at his face and draws her lips desperately to her's, and he knows it's _wrong_, so very wrong, but she tastes like rainwater and sends a fire burning through his stomach like the sparks from her mouth are catching to his.

She's pulling off his shirt and he's pulling off her wet clothes and he's complete again for the moment.

The next morning she's gone, leaving only bare sheets behind. When he goes to her house, her Dad says she's really truly gone—moving early to Stanford, he recalls. Isn't even going to finish out the year at Hearst.

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After a few weeks of drinking himself stupid, he decides to get over her. He's barely passing his own classes now as it is now, and he almost convinces himself that he doesn't need her.

He even moves out of the Grand, deciding that it's draining more of his money then if he just _bought_ a house. It's on the beach, and Dick is sharing it with him—per usual. The V word is forbidden in the house, and Logan manages to finish his first year with barely passing grades and no Veronica because she's dropped out to go somewhere else without him.

The next summer and school year is almost frighteningly peaceful without the spunky blonde snooping around. It's almost nice, almost makes him feel like his life is getting back on track.

He only thinks of her in the dead of night, when he sees her face like it was on the day he broke up with her. The confusion, the hurt, the guilt, but neither of them had cried. Both of them had tears in their eyes, but they didn't cry.

Despite the brief period of dating afterwards, he knows that _they _really ended in that moment. Any trust that he had accumulated with her had already evaporated into thin air, as proven by her early disappearance to Stanford. She isn't back in his life, and won't be anytime soon.

That is, until he sees her on the beach. He isn't sure why she's there; it's been over a year since she's left. She's standing alone, and at first he thinks she's some kind of illusion.

She turns towards him, and he sees the smile working across her face, the smile that sparks like fire. He starts towards her at once, not even pausing to consider the fact that he has a hat and sunglasses on and she couldn't really tell that it was him.

"I got you chocolate," an unfamiliar voice speaks up from behind him, and Logan stops as a boy his Mother would have described as 'pretty' walks past him with two large ice cream cones. "I hope that's okay."

"You know me so well," Veronica says in a voice that's not Veronica's, too happy and not enough sass as she accepts the ice-cream cone and gives the boy a kiss on the cheek.

Logan stops in his tracks, his surfboard banging against his knees. Veronica smiles the fire smile again, but it's not directed at him and it hurts worse.

It's only later when he's suffering from a killer hang over that he realizes Veronica is like Lily. He'll _never_ be over either of them. Their names are written over his heart in blood, sweat and tears.

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It's another year before he sees her again, but this time she's alone, and she's at _his _house. She knocks at the door loudly, and he's so surprised to see her because she's still at Stanford and he's still at Hearst and it's in the middle of the week, the middle of the term even.

"Logan," she breathes upon seeing him, her hair like golden silk and her smile like fire, her voice high pitched like she's surprised to see him at his own house, and his name has never sounded more beautiful.

"Ver—" he begins, but is caught of as she lunges towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing his mouth to her's. He tries in vain to tell himself that this is a bad idea, that not everything can be solved with sex—but his body betrays him as he draws her closer closer closer.

He's breathing in fire as she kisses him harder harder harder. She's clutching at him like she's never going to let go, and for a brief moment he thinks she won't. He thinks that she's here to stay. Perhaps for good this time.

He wants to be surprised, angry, when he wakes up and she's gone, leaving only wrinkled sheets and the lingering scent of her perfume. On his bed, folded neatly, is his hoodie from two years ago.

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It's five years later and he's dating a really lovely girl named Emma when he says Veronica's name again. It's an accident, but he's kissing Emma and the name groans out of him like a sin.

Needless to say, the slap on his cheek is proof that Emma won't be welcoming him back anytime soon.

He knows he should feel sorry for what he's done to her, the first girl he's dated since he moved, but he just _can't_. The lingering red mark on his face is the only true mark that she was here at all.

That's the difference, he supposes, lifting a shot of whiskey to his lips, that's the difference between Veronica and any other girl he tries to distract himself with. Emma's only mark was a slap, but Veronica has covered him in scars, marked him in permanent marker with her name.

_Speak of the devil. _He can see her now, making her way towards her. Or maybe it's not Veronica, he supposes, maybe it's her doppelgänger. Certainly good little Veronica Mars wouldn't be in this part of town.

"Dick told me I could find you here," she tells him, pulling out a bar stool next to him. Well fuck.

"Dick is a traitor," he says, shaking his head and holding out his glass for a refill. Veronica smiles at him, but all he feels is numb. The sparks from her smile don't even touch him this time.

"What, don't want to see me?"

"What do you want Ronnie?" he asks her, turning his eyes on her. He isn't in the mood for their usual banter.

"Just catching up," she says, ordering a beer.

"_Really_?"

She smirks, and he takes another drink.

"Really."

He isn't surprised to find that she's left the next morning. He's starting to want to hate her, he realizes, even though it's impossible. He's starting to hate her for fucking with his head.

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It only takes her six months to find him again, despite the fact that he's moved _again_, and specifically _not_ told Dick where he's going.

When she's standing there, her mouth sparking and her eyes full of tears, he almost shuts the door in her face. She deserves it after all. But maybe it's the look in her eyes that causes him to widen the door and step aside to let her in.

"Why did you sleep with Madison?" She demands as soon as she steps inside the house, and he's looking at her in disbelief. It's been seven years since that particular incident, and now she asks him _why_.

"Why do you think?" he asks tiredly. "I was drunk Veronica. It's not like I would do that sober."

Thunder claps from above, and Veronica jumps a little. She steps forward then, her hand reaching out for his, but he steps away from her embrace. Hurt flashes across her eyes like lightning, hot and bright. Her mouth stops it's sparking abrubtly.

"You must hate me," she says, her voice constricted and angry as she turns towards the door. And he lets her leave, because he wants to hate her. He wants it more than he wants Lily back at this point.

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This time, _he _goes after _her_. They're both twenty-eight now, and he hasn't been with someone since her last incursion into his life a year ago. He's still hung up on her like an addict who doesn't have enough money for one last hit, and he can't forget the look she gave him when she left the last time.

She's living in New York, in some lonely flat in a lonely building, and he bangs on the door hard. The apartment beyond is silent, and rain is pounding the streets behind him but he doesn't let up. She _has_ to be home.

When she opens the door she's in her pajamas and her golden hair is pulled into a messy bun and she looks tired. Her mouth isn't sparking with fire, and her eyes are blank. She looks lost, but something like hope crosses her face at the sight of him in her doorway.

"Logan?" she asks, and it's still the most beautiful sound he's heard.

"Hey," he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. She steps aside to let him in, and he can see that her fingers are shaking like she's an animal in a cage.

"What are you doing here?" she begins to nervously twirl her hair.

"I came to find you. I'm so tired of the running Veronica."

"I know," she looks like she's going to cry, her lower lip trembling. "I don't know why I go, but I just needed to every time I woke up and I—"

He cuts her off by stepping forward and wrapping his arms tightly around her. There's nothing sexual about the embrace, but he holds her close nonetheless, like she's a lifeline and he's drowning. She stands like a deer in headlights for a moment, but then her arms wrap tightly around his chest and leans into him.

"You must hate me," she whispers, "For leaving so many times."

"I wanted to," he admits, and he slides the door to her apartment shut behind him. "But hating takes to much time, and I'd rather fix things with you."

"Fix things?" her voice warbles, "But I left you every time I went to find you, even though I said I wouldn't—"

"So?" Logan asks, stepping back so he can look her in the eyes. They're filled to the brim with a salty ocean of tears. "Do you know how many times I let you down just in the two year course when we were doing our whole on/off thing?"

"Yes, but I always take _years_," she protests, some of the old Veronica attitude filling her voice. "And I always convince myself that you're what I need, and then I show up and we sleep together and I get scared and I don't know why—" she breaks off her tirade. "I'm just like my Mother."

"How do you figure that?" he asks her, crossing his arms over his chest. She looks down, ashamed at her feet.

"I run from the things I'm scared of," she whispers, "and they're not normal things like murders or rapists, but _you_ scare me Logan."

"How?"

"Because…"she stumbles over the words like she's drunk, her tongue tangling in her mouth. He thinks he gets the gist of what she's saying, but he needs to hear it from her lips. "Because Imaybekindofinlovewithyou." She says it in such a rush that he can barely distinguish the words.

"What?"

"I'm in love with you!" she shrieks, and then her eyes are filled with life and her mouth is sparking and she's angry and frustrated and she continues to spout like a tea kettle, "And it won't go away."

Logan smirks before he can help himself, and then steps forward to pull her into his embrace again.

"I love you too."

She lets out a little sigh and slumps in his arms, her face pressed against his shoulder and her arms tied loosely around his waist.

"I'm really sorry," she mumbles into his shirt.

"I am too," he says, "For ruining us in the beginning."

"Hey," she punches him playfully in the arm, "It only took eight years."

In the morning, he expects her to be gone even though it's technically _her _apartment, but she's looking across the bed at him with her sparking mouth and her eyes like stars and she almost look surprised to be there.

"You're not going to leave?" he asks her softly, and she nods shyly.

"I think I'm going to stay," she says, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever had.


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